i didn't know what time it was

My mom's memory issues continue to increase — or, I should say, her memory decreases. It is more like an ebb and flow, rather than a steady decline. Some days seem vaguer than others, some not too vague at all. One of the things I have noticed lately is that dates and times are starting to lose meaning for her. What day of the week or the month it is escapes her. It doesn't really matter. I'm on top of that, and all she has to do is ask. She remembers regularly scheduled things, like the cleaning people coming, but she isn't sure if it's tomorrow or the day after. Again, no matter. But events from the past — not names, forget those — are still there for her. Places she's visited, shows that she's seen.

Once I was young
yesterday, perhaps
danced with Jim and Paul
and kissed some other chaps.
Once I was young,
but never was naive.
I thought I had a trick or two
up my imaginary sleeve.
And now I know I was naive.

When my mom was in her 20s she lived in New York and had the opportunity to see many great musicals on Broadway. She bought record albums for each show she saw, like Bells Are Ringing, The Pajama Game and My Fair Lady. When she would get nostalgic and put on one of those records, I would read the lyrics on the back of the album sleeve and try to sing along. I grew up listening to those songs and growing to love them. I probably know the Rex Harrison/Julie Andrews cast recording of My Fair Lady by heart.

My mom also loved standards, and had albums featuring Sarah Vaughan singing Gershwin and my favorite, Ella Fitzgerald singing songs by Rodgers and Hart. I suspect these records may have been some of my parents' make-out music. The other day, when my mom was wondering what the agenda was for the day — actually, what was the day of the week — I couldn't help but hear Ella's voice in my ear, "I didn't now what time it was ..."

I didn't know what time it was
Till I met you.
Oh, what a lovely time it was,
How sublime it was too!
I didn't know what day it was
You held my hand.

I didn't know what year it was
live was no prize.
I wanted love and here it was
shining out of your eyes.
I'm wise,
and I know what time it is now.

Excerpts from "I didn't know what time it was," music by Richard Rodgers, lyrics by Lorenz Hart, originally from the musical "Too Many Girls" (1939).

in stereo

What does it say about me that the best stereo of my adult life is the one in my new car? Seriously, I'm hearing nuances in old CDs, falling in love with new songs.

Gadget geek that I can be, it's never really extended to my music. I bought a CD walkman back in the day which I used on the New York subway on the way to and from work. I was gifted with an mp3 player when they first came out and used it commuting on the bus and metro, but when I hear music I want to sing along, so this could lead to potentially disruptive moments for others. I did use these devices, but have never really liked earphones. Too tinny, with an all-too-obvious tinnitus link. I prefer the iPhone's earbuds, but only like to wear them on a lunchtime walk—no longer than that.

No, home stereo is where it's at for me, but that too, has been problematic. I had a big CD/tape combo unit and downsized when I moved from New York to DC. But the smaller unit, a CD/cassette/radio which replaced it, gathers dust on a shelf. It works as a radio and not much else. Not sure what's wrong with its CD player, but it's all plastic crap, not worthy of repair or replacement. The tape player probably still works, if I still had cassette tapes.

When I was a teenager I had my own portable turntable (bright blue plastic!) that I could use to play records and singles in my bedroom. I think it had a built-in radio as well. Horrible sound. I mostly played my records on my parents' stereo when I was alone in the house. Yes, before my current car stereo, the best sounds I remember came from my parents' original stereo, which was partly constructed by my father. The turntable was a Garrard, which I think I may have "leant" to my cousin, along with my lps, as I couldn't afford to buy a new turntable at the time and he was and still is into vinyl. The tuner and amplifier was built by my dad, down to inserting the last tube, and he showed me how to connect it all up, clean and replace tubes, etc. So if anything went awry - one of the huge wooden speakers lost sound, e.g., I would know just what to do to tighten the wires and get it sounding just right. In fact, learning the "back end" of that stereo system is probably why the maze of wires behind my computer doesn't faze me as much as it could.

I was introduced to some amazing music on that stereo. As a small child I was serenaded to sleep with the Beatles' Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. My Dad loved classical music and played Chopin and Rachmaninoff, but also would throw us a bone with the more kid-friendly Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite, Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf and Grieg's Peer Gynt. My mom's Broadway recordings of My Fair Lady (with the original cast of Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews) and Pajama Game were also fun to listen to, as well as providing glimpses into her pre-married life in New York. But what I liked the best were their Ella Fitzgerald Rodgers & Hart Songbook and Sarah Vaughan Gershwin albums. I like to sing along.

My mom also brought rock and roll into the house with Revolver and the aforementioned Sgt. Pepper. Many years later I played the first albums of the Clash and the Police on that same stereo before I went off to college. And now I'm driving around and playing some of these old favorites and getting lost once again in bass lines and choruses, as my daughter sings along from the back seat. You can't go back in time, but I have been wondering lately if I should invest in a turntable and ask my cousin for those records back . . .